


Totally Known

by emmaliza



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Porn, Episode: s03e01 Aftermath, Episode: s03e02 Powerplay, Extremely Dubious Consent, Identity Issues, Light Angst, Mind Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Del Tarrant washes up on a strange ship, and discovers how strange it is.
Relationships: Del Tarrant/Zen
Kudos: 5





	Totally Known

The ship seems deserted. Good, Tarrant wasn't looking forward to having to kill someone for it. He skulks along the corridors, drawing as little attention to himself as possible, just in case. He needs to find the flight deck, but he ought to scout the place out first. If there are automatic defenses, that is where they'll be thickest.

It's a very impressive ship. A little big for just himself, but with a vehicle like this to his name, Tarrant doesn't think he'll have any trouble finding a crew. He didn't get a good look at the exterior, he was only semi-conscious when he came aboard, but still he feels something oddly familiar in this place. The walls seem to hum. It's like despite the fact it's deserted, he's not truly alone.

Suddenly he trips over something, and breaks his fall against the wall. A cable. Well, whoever abandoned ship probably didn't have time to tidy up first. He steadies himself and resumes walking, but the cable twists around his ankle again, this time knocking him onto the floor. When he looks behind himself, he doesn't believe what he's seeing. Is it – moving?

The first cable is joined by another, wrapping around his other leg and pulling him backwards. Tarrant scrabbles to get away, valiantly trying to recall his old FSA escapology training, but it's no use. There are too damn many of them, emerging one after the other from the wall with no sign of slowing down, taking hold of all his limbs no matter how he snarls and struggles.

Then everything goes quiet. That hum from before is back, but now it's like it's in his head, ringing out from inside him. _Do not panic. This is merely an assessment of your physical and mental capacities._

Tarrant shivers, wondering what the hell that is. But for a second he's so bamboozled he forgets to struggle.

He snaps out of it when he feels one of the cables push insistently against his bottom lip, making him twist his head to get away. But it's no use, wherever he turns there is another waiting for him, so he can't stop them forcing their way in his mouth, down his throat, making him gag. He tries biting, but the things are metal, doing that just hurts his teeth. Whoever designed this ships defenses must be some sort of pervert – and one with a sick sense of humour.

His clothing, already scorched and tattered from the battle, falls to pieces easily under the cables' onslaught, until he's left naked and shivering on the floor of a strange ship, helpless to resist. Then he hears that voice again: _do not be afraid. I have no intention of harming you._

Choking on the metal in his mouth, he curses muffledly around it. That voice in his head is somehow more intrusive, more violating, than being forced to the ground, having his clothes torn off and his face fucked. He hisses in pain as the cables start to spread his arse open – no, it's not a surprise, but he hardly has to be happy about it.

Yet, when they sink inside, something feels... different. Everything slows down. It doesn't hurt as much as he expected; indeed it doesn't hurt at all, and the voice echoing through his body somehow transforms into something warm and pleasant: _your name is Del Tarrant. You are not a threat. You have relevant skills to this ship's mission._

He is still being violated, clearly, but it is not so unwelcome as it was before. Pleasure starts to ring through his body as the cables rub against his insides, searching out god knows what. He moans lowly around the thing in his mouth. As the fuck him he feels the ship peering inside his mind, pouring every memory into itself, tearing his guards down so it can know him absolutely. Tarrant's been on guard since he was twelve years old, a bright young cadet on his first day at the FSA, knowing he had to do this perfect if he was going to be a space captain by twenty one like he wanted. Zen knows all that.

Arousal floods hopelessly through his veins and he lets himself go limp, lets this strange machine do what he likes with him. The cables hold him, squeeze him, touch him until it's too much, and he comes with a shout. Then they withdraw.

Tarrant rolls over and lies on his back, getting his breath back, not entirely sure what just happened. His afterglow is rather interrupted by a booming voice ringing through his head again: _a second unknown vehicle has docked with the Liberator._

The ominous sound of heavy boots marching echoes against the metal walls. Federation troops, it has to be. Damn. He managed to bluff it out on the last ship, in the chaos and confusion, but he's not sure he can pull it off a second time. If they find him like this no doubt they'll wonder who he is, and he doesn't fancy his chances that none of them will remember the promising young pilot who stole a pursuit ship and ran half the galaxy with it. Not to mention if they find him _like this_ they might just get ideas about how to punish him for his desertion.

While he looks around, desperately wondering what he can do, he notices something on the ground beside him. A pile of black clothing, neatly pressed and clean. A Federation uniform. Tarrant blinks. That must be Captain Franklyn's uniform; he was wearing that on the escape capsule, before he got hit by a spare piece of shrapnel and died, but that was torn to pieces. Tarrant would have stolen it earlier if it wasn't. Still, someone – something – must have repaired it.

He looks up in awe. “...Thank you, Zen,” he says, not knowing how he knows that name.


End file.
